Gods
by Madame Rhea Di'Ey
Summary: If they would have been deities, then Hinata would have been the goddess of the sun and Itachi the god of the moon; he would have been the god of the tides. Or so Kisame thinks, brain clouded with blood, as his grip on his consciousness and subsequently life loosens. Maybe, just maybe, if he had been any less dizzy he would have wondered why does he even think of this.


**Gods**

If there would have been gods inhabiting the sky, Kisame thinks in a rare moment of philosophy that steams from the fact that his head had been hit one too many times with heavy, blunt objects, perhaps they would have been deities themselves. After all, their power surely isn't too far from those of a Kami. His head is bleeding badly, he numbly realizes as the ruby liquid bearing the name of blood drips down from the wound above his temple and mars his chiseled face, red looking so odd as it oozes against pale blue. Limping, a frail-looking, petite woman who is whispering words he cannot quite register (_a prayer, perhaps?_) – he suspects his eardrums have been affected; it would explain both his loss of hearing and part of the dizziness he feels –, makes her way toward him, plopping rather than kneeling at his side. Her translucent, lavender tinted orbs are droopy, heavy with exhaustion and a mildly healed gash in her left calf mars the beauty of her ivory skin with an ugly red mark that will surely leave an even uglier scar. She cleans both his wound and face rapidly with supplies she carries in a small first aid kit stuffed in the pouch she wears on her back, and closes the wound efficiently in under five minutes. His head is bandaged snugly, and he mutters a weak thanks. She smiles, and takes a momentum's refuge at his side, leaning on his arm, her back not quite touching the tree trunk behind them.

Yes, they would definitely be gods, he muses, craning his neck and staring up at the darkening heavens above. The night nears, the blue sky fading into orange-tinted cerulean and then into charcoal silver-gray. Threatening clouds quickly fill the airscape, a warning that a storm will soon begin. The shark-like man grins wryly (_tries to, really, but fails, if we are to be completely honest_) at the water flood's thought. They'd be gods; a trinity of powerful beings that rip the world apart. The question is, _who_ would they be? As the answer dawns upon him, he almost cackles, but decides against it when he considers his aching body and the soreness of the girl at his side.

Fitting, how fitting. He knows who'd they'd be, alright...

Hinata would be the sun deity, undoubtedly. Yes...The sun that shines up high in the sky, the one everyone adores, the one on whose presence everyone and everything is dependent on. The one whose gentleness can make a turnaround to deadliness, the lion hidden in the lamb whose temper rarely breaks – but when it does, even the deep Hell trembles in raw fear. The sun that smiles for all, but oh so differently depending on who you are. For some, she smiles gently, wholeheartedly, heartfelt and sincere. For others, the smile is cruel, mocking, faked and false; loathing and nothing short of a well yet poorly hidden sneer. The graceful ray of light that makes everything better; the ray of light that to them was so kind and understanding. The sun that smiles, even if it is someone who is always burning.

Itachi, on the other hand, was perfectly fit to be the moon deity. Ever calm and ever sick, ivory like an apparition; pale, white skin drowning in a sea of black _(with red-embedded clouds in his cloak_)_._ Eerily silent, deaf and mute to the pleas whispered in the confines of night – yet, much like the moon, always listening through his eyes. The one in whom, strangely, everyone found solace (_everyone that understood there is more to him than meets the eye – even in that aspect, he was painfully a lot like the moon_). A presence that can do nothing but splash silver glow on your despair – much like the moon had splayed silver glow on him, all those years and those many nights ago. The moon that smiles, too, even if it is far more reserved than the one the sun is wearing. The moon that is (_was_) always surrounded by others yet always so depressingly alone.

He, Kisame guessed, would be the deity of the ocean; of the tides and of the water – of all that glorious blue that darkens when the moon is out and brightens when the sun is near. A vassal for the deities of the sky, the one whom they share because frankly, aside from one another and themselves, he is the only thing either of them has anymore. The deity of the seas and of the great ocean, who violently hurls the tides into violent tsunamis at the moon's order or tames them to hummed lullabies when the sun requests it. Indeed, the ocean. The ocean on whose either side rest the sun and the moon, the one who is their equal and yet their inferior at the same time. The _water _who is vast, and strong, and flexible and everywhere, always at home yet never belonging (_truly, always at home, yet never knowing what a home is_).

The blue man's eyelids slid almost closed, his body instinctively shifting closer to the girl at his side until they are pressed together comfortably.

Barely seeing, Sharingan active or not, Itachi gives something that wants to be a smile (_it would have __been__, had his body not ached this goddamn much_) at the blurred sight his eyes sketch for his brain to register. Hinata beckons him to rest next to her, and he badly wants to say no, but fuck it, they've killed anyone and anything (_everyone and everything_) around here and he guesses they can at least rest for now, huddled together as if they aren't wanted criminals, wayward shinobi, a group of misfits that somehow _fit _when they were put together. As if they are mere peasants and not a group of misunderstood prodigies. As if they hadn't just added another hundred of souls to the list of their crimes. As if they aren't on the wrong path for all the right reasons.

As if they will get to see another dawn.

So, he unceremoniously settles to the girl's other side, his and Kisame's cloak making a makeshift blanket sufficiently large to keep the three of them in a state that remotely resembled warmth right after. Their arms wound around the girl's back, both doing their best to tamper down her feverish shuddering. Itachi sighs, banging his head lightly against the wood behind them. That oak tree was probably the only thing who got out unscathed from that ambush attack and the massacre that subsequently took place. Damn everything. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want Kisame to die. He doesn't want Hinata to die.

He could care less about the cooling corpses occupying the meadow, the scent of blood that reeks from them so strong yet so muted at the same time for the trio's tired senses.

He doesn't want them to die. He wishes this wonderful, insane thing they have – for it cannot be named family, friendship, or anything else; maybe a crossover of those all – could go on forever. Oh, how badly he wishes. Alas, he knows it won't happen. It can't. So, he kept quiet, closing his eyes and enjoying the warmth of Hinata's slender form against his side and that of Kisame against his forearm. At least they'll die together. He would have hated to die alone. He suspected they didn't fancy that thought either. A wistful smile blossomed on his blue lips, breath coming out in a huff.

He wonders who will mourn them. Who will bring flowers to their graves – surely, Konoha forces or some other shinobi village's forces will find them soon enough; they will be separated and buried each in his home village. Itachi next to the other rotting corpses in the Uchiha compound, Hinata in the common cemetery (_surely, the proud Hyuuga clan won't allow a __**traitor **__to be buried in the family's graveyard, let alone among the other clan heads, past and future_)_ –_ and Kisame next to the headstones and thus the coffins of former teammates, nearly all and all nearly nameless men and women; all orphans and none aware of what love means.

Not that they were any more knowledgeable when it came to knowing what love is, mind you (_but they can agree this is the closest thing they ever had and ever will have of that sensation so many despaired over or killed for_).

He would have asked the rhetorical questions aloud. But he knew there was no one left to answer. Hinata's breath had broke off minutes ago; Kisame's pulse had flickered out shortly after. He glanced sideways at them; both looked so peaceful it hurt. They were both smiling, Hinata's head on the shark-like man's shoulder, his mop of blue hair tangling in with her indigo locks as his head had fallen lightly atop hers. With a heavy, final sigh, Itachi let his head fall on the girl's shoulder, inhaling the last time her hyacinth perfume mixed with that of perspiration and blood. Wistfully, he joined his two fellow sinners with a smile of his own, slipping out of this world and heading toward the nothingness that followed the transcendence. He hoped there was an afterlife and yet was fearful of it. Because as much as he wanted to see his brutal right-hand man and the girl who somehow got tangled with them in this mess called life, he'd rather not see them ever again than see their faces scrunched up in pain as hell torments them for sins they made because fate forced them to.

Rain poured down then, thunder roaring louder than an army of tigers meeting one of lions. Lightning lit up the sky, frozen white giving an ethereal glow to the bloodied corpses, a macabre spectacle down in the to-be muddy ground, a grotesque display of what was and is no more – life. For life is red, swirling and pumping liquid that had been drowned out and was now washed away by furious downpour. For life will always end with death, and that's unavoidable. Sooner or later, whether we'll rot or burn, falling ash upon ash in a furnace, we're all going to be claimed by the blind eyes and the blade of a Shinigami.

They were no exceptions. They might have been a queen, a king and their knight; _t__he perfect recipe for a disaster. _Still, they were rulers over nothing. _But t__hey were gods __to __one another, _and that might have been and maybe still is _just_ about enough.

"One's biggest love is, without his or her consent or conscious act, venerated sooner or later.

One's biggest love becomes, if given time, one's equivalent of a God."

_For some, it is war. For some, it is crime. For some, it is money._

_For others, it is social status. For others, it is family._

_For them?_

_For them, it was the other two for each one._

They were the gods of one another.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Angst? Why, yes. I don't know why I wrote this. Maybe because to me it fits, somehow, the image of this scenario. Although I personally prefer comparing the Hyuuga to the moon and the Uchiha to the sun, while Hinata can be compared to both, Itachi is clearly fit for only the moon. And Kisame is definitely a water-man. XD As for the angst...It just happened. It's _what happens _when you mix me, a blackout, three hours of sleep, a starry sky and a half-full bottle of vodka with VALSHE's cover of "Soundless Voice". Uhm...I hope you kids enjoyed? Yeah. See ya.


End file.
